Perennial
by Ella Mantry
Summary: "In Absentia Luci, Tenebrae Vincunt." Perennial is the tale of Prince Nuada's quest to abolish the darkness around him, and his discovery of a saving light within another, however human. But life for the guardians of the Earth grows more complex by the hour. Nothing is as it first appears, and evil stirs after the calm of victory...this time in the very bowels of Hades. Nuada/ OC
1. His Highness Hired

**_℘εrεηηια∫_**

**_Written by Ella Mantry_**

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_Perennials_

_Life is a journey, and its fairest flowers_  
_Lie in our path beneath pride's trampling feet;_  
_Oh, let us stoop to virtue's humble bowers,_  
_And gather those, which, faded, still are sweet._

_These way-side blossoms amulets are of price;_  
_They lead to pleasure, yet from dangers warn;_  
_Turn toil to bliss, this earth to Paradise,_  
_And sunset death to heaven's eternal morn._

_A good deed done hath memory's blest perfume,_  
_A day of self-forgetfulness, all given_  
_To holy charity, hath perennial bloom_  
_That goes, undrooping, up from earth to heaven._

_Forgiveness, too, will flourish in the skies_  
_Justice, transplanted thither, yields fair fruit;_  
_And if repentance, borne to heaven, dies,_  
_'Tis that no tears are there to wet its root._

_~Samuel Griswold Goodrich_

Chapter I:

His Highness Hired

Lunar Cycle:

Waning Crescent

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A wise man once said that we do not choose to be born. We do not choose our parents. We do not choose our historical epoch, the country of our birth, or the immediate circumstances of our upbringing. We do not, most of us, choose to die; nor do we choose the time and conditions of our death. But within this realm of choicelessness, we do choose how we live: courageously or in cowardice, honorably or dishonorably, with purpose or adrift.¹

Change is a power gifted only to those who exercise choice in their manner of living. No difference in life can be made without one to first realize the necessity of reformation before spreading word to the populous. However, the decision to go down a path that makes no ease of travel for those who walk it cannot be made by any one person for another. A leader can illuminate the way for others to follow, but without a staunch motivation to tread, people will not be moved. In this world, a solitary lantern is simply not enough for a metamorphosis of thought and action.

For it is not light that is needed, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder.²

And it was on this ninth of December that rain pelted the outer walls of the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense with an unusual fervor. The ominous gloom coagulated in the dank air, making it seem like late evening rather than afternoon.

Vicious though it was, the arrival of the tempest was not completely unannounced. The local weatherman had said during his segment that the area of central New Jersey would be looking forward to a frog-strangler that would most likely carry on through half the night. Gesturing to the weather map behind him, he had told the viewers exactly where and when the shower would strike.

It was the force of the storm that had not been predicted, for the raging downpour brought with it not only limited visibility, but also bone-chilling gusts.

This made things absolutely miserable for the security detail stationed out front at the gates.

_More like a guard-strangler_ thought one of the agents as he marched on with his patrol through the dismal weather, wrapped up in his department-issued plastic poncho that did nothing the keep him from getting drenched.

Within the compound, however, it was quite a different story. The air was kept at a reasonable temperature, even deep within the bowels of the complex. Everything was well lit, if not blanched under the glare of florescent bulbs. Agents hustled about the halls, some transporting stacks of papers, others leather briefcases, but every one of them had a place to go and a task to complete. Their endeavors were carried out with the sound resolve and contentment of an employee that earns their keep.

The entire company seemed to be at ease.

The exception to this being the once-heir to BethMora leaning against the back wall of one of the many conference rooms in area 51.

Prince Nuada was not in the least complacent. In fact, he was rather livid.

_These humans, _he thought caustically, _Think themselves so important with their insufferable meetings. What is the point, when all they do is argue with each other?_ It was giving him a headache. Even the fish and the demon had grown exasperated with the endless prattle._ And is anything ever decided? No, of course not. They can't even realize that their thoughts are the same without knocking their skulls together._

Nuada glared at his surrounding company, challenging any to gather the gall and look his way. The few that did, swallowed and averted their gaze so as not to incur the wrath of the Silverlance. Manning however, seemed oblivious to the prince's threatening scowl. More than likely thinking him cowed by his promise to the red brute.

"Your highness," The director addressed him finally with crisp, official tones. "We'll need your account of the latest mission now, so report down to Agent Hartley for debriefing, will you."_And then with their damn protocols. _Nuada righted himself abruptly from his position, turned, and left without a glance or word before making his way swiftly down the hall, through the sea of agents who parted to avoid him.

As his silent steps carried him—with all the natural grace of a crown prince—toward his destination, he thought back to the binding agreement that had landed him in this most unfortunate situation.

It was in the Royal Chamber of the cavern wherein the Golden army had slept as he recalled, that the son of the Fallen One, Anung Un Rama, had challenged his right to command. Nuada readied himself for the dual that was to come, but his opponent spoke up once again.

"Look, your highness. As much as I wanna kick your pearly white ass, I don't want to kill ya, seeing as I made a promise to my buddy over there. So whaddya say we stop this now and nobody dies. Go home. Drink a beer or ah, whatever you elves do." The red giant tread toward where the prince stood, holding his sister at bay.

In turn, the prince regarded him warily. He did not know what this human-sympathizing creature was planning, only that it could not be good.

Nuada's eyes narrowed infinitesimally as his enemy stepped closer until he drew himself up.

"I'm afraid there is no way around it demon, for we are completely at odds." Red halted before the largest gear and reached into his coat pocket for his last Cuban cigar. "You seek to protect that which I wish to destroy and in that, there can be no compromise. Look around you. Does this appear to be anything but past the point of no return?" Nuada gestured to the towering shapes gathered on all sides of them. "Your ambition of fraternity is an impossibility, a hopeless dream that will never become a reality. Unless you choose to fight alongside us, this will only end in blood. For I will not stop."

"Now see, I'm not so sure about that." Red pointed out with his cigar. "I think, we _can _come to an agreement."

"Oh really? What would you suggest then?"

"How about a little wager."

"A_ bet_? You look to end our struggle with a mere bet?"

"Ah, ah, ah. Hear me out. If you win…I'll join you and your merry band of golden boulders." Hellboy bit the end of his cigar and took a moment to light it before taking a long pull. "But if I win,"he said through a puff of smoke "you, join us."

"And gamble the chances of saving my people? For what, the aid of one?" The prince scoffed. "Your bargain holds no value to me."

"Alright, all of us. Me, Abe, Krauss,…and Liz."

"Red." Came the warning from behind him.

"What need do I have of you? I have an unstoppable army."

"And I have a stone fist. Unstoppable force and immovable object, right? But you know, this isn't about who's got the better guns," the prince scowled "this is about whether you're so sure that you can actually beat me with that shiny, little stick of yours."

"Of course I can."

"Then why don't you prove it Goldilocks."

The fight that followed would be forever engraved in Nuada's memory as the moment he'd lost the salvation of his people.

What a fool he had been to stake his one and only chance at purging the world of the humans because of such an irresponsible reason as his pride. He was no longer some military whelp. He should have been above being spurred by an enemy's taunting words.

Yet here he was, honor-bond to assist an organization whose sole purpose was to protect those he had strove so hard to destroy.

The irony of it was not at all lost on him.

Perhaps this was Father's last contempt of him. That with his last breath, he had cursed the Prince to endure the greatest travesty: servitude to the monsters. To play dog to these avaricious beings with empty hearts, who's desire for their sole-benefit killed so many fae, and drove the rest into hiding where they lived now in squalor. To make Nuada heed their will as his proud father once did when he chose to honor their long broken truce.

Therein lay another heartache for the Prince. That he had killed his own father, his beloved _ati,_ for the sake of his people and all for naught.

Weren't they on the same side?

Why didn't King Balor see that the humans would destroy the Earth and all who inhabit it for their own sake, despite the warning words spoken by even some of _their_ "wise" ones? Why didn't he see that they needed to act now or fade forever into darkness? Why didn't he see that his son only wanted to make him proud?

But "why" was no longer worth asking.

He didn't, and Nuada had to kill him for his blindness.

It disgusted him.

_How__ did I become this wretch?_ He thought as he walked._ When did I become this traitor, one that kills the king yet aids the filth_? _Where has my honor gone?_

Honor.

Indeed, that was what led him to start his crusade against humanity, yet now kept him bound to it. Everything seemed to boil down to that one, solitary thing. He was stuck, and whatever path he took violated that deep-seated moral code on some level. It forced him to choose between two evils, two crimes.

Truthfully, he could have continued on the mission he had set out to accomplish, broken his word for the betterment of his people. But who would bow to a king that could not keep a simple bargain? What good was he if he could not uphold a covenant?

He felt worthless.

A sad excuse for a prince.

Yet though he had lost esteem as a leader, he had gained the better favor of his sister, which was something he had thought nearly impossible until recently.

Indeed, the Golden Army and his rally against the humans had been forever put to rest, and their relationship was better for it...though not where he had always wished. She no longer treated him with veiled fear, but came no closer to his heart of hearts.

But now those dreams of love-realized too needed to be cast aside, for he no longer stood a chance.

What with her _beloved_ Abraham.

The water-dweller had won his sisters admiration in ways that for all his worth Nuada could not, and he did so with but a few awkwardly expressed words and good timing.

For that, Nuada cursed him.

He wasn't even a son of the Earth.

He was neither royal, not valiant, nor tenacious, but another week-minded human-lover and one of the arrogant fools who stood against him.

With that scorn, it was safe to say the Nuada thought him less than unworthy.

Thus, it was for his sister's happiness and hers alone, that he kept distant rather than hostile air between the two of them, spiteful though he may be. Nuala always tried to encourage better feelings, but Nuada was steadfast. Perhaps once those towering walls of disapprobation waned, he could learn to...not hate him. But that wouldn't be for quite a while.

These thoughts and more plagued him the whole march to the office for his debriefing. His sister had always cautioned of how his introspection would lead him to a darkened state and he knew it to be yet another way in which he wasn't good enough for her, she who glowed like the evening star, but he couldn't help it.

That was simply the way he was—the way he had always been—and it wasn't about to change. It was why his lips and hollows round his eyes were tainted black, and his face more aged.

Dark thought only begets dark blood, and he always had shadows lurking within his heart.

So it was with a sense of profound self-loathing that he arrived at the small desk of the toad-like Agent Hartley, the lowly human who ran the archives, where he grudgingly recanted the tale of his most recent betrayal.

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******Disclaimer: As you can probably guess, I lay no claim whatsoever to the wonderful characters, settings, and plots of Hellboy©. They belong to the brilliant writer and artist of the comic, Mike Mignola. I do however express my creative licence as a FanFiction author to borrow and to bend those aforementioned characters as well as my ownership over any original characters, settings, and plots I so choose to add in.**

******Quotations:**

******1) Joseph Epstein**

******2) Frederick Douglass**

******Poem by Samuel Griswold Goodrich is public domain.**

**Side note: For any and all who follow this story, or if you are a guest: visit frequently for news, I apologize if you thought this was a new chapter update; I found some errors in grammar and formatting, so I wanted to fix them. However, there is a new lunar section (as you can see) at the beginning which plays an important role, and some new paragraphs of story towards the end.**

**If you haven't been following in some fashion, good that you didn't see the product before it was finished and please ignore the first bit of my note. With that in mind, please keep reading.**

**Dear Readers,**

**I must thank you most ardently for perusing my story. This is actually my first piece and I sincerely hope you all enjoyed it. I'm not sure when I'll update next, but hopefully it will be sometime over break since I will have so much free time. Speaking of freedom, feel free to review and please give me feedback: constructive criticism is more than welcome! If you want to know any more about me or the stories I am thinking of writing in the future, check out my FanFiction profile. On that note, I am also looking for a beta so if anyone would be interested, please message me. I suppose that's it for now. Once again, thank you so much!**

**Sincerely yours,**

**Ella Mantry**


	2. A Solitary Sunday

Chapter II:

A Solitary Sunday

Lunar Cycle:

Waning Crescent

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Violet was having a rather reclusive Sunday indoors.

Honestly, any person would have to be either down-right insane or incredibly desperate for their paycheck to be out and about in this weather, and she was neither of those. _'Take 5 Gourmet.' Cheesy name, but it's not too far._

She paused for a moment while she stuck the end of the pen in her mouth and bit the cap off before circling the name in blue.

_'Bucks Country Cafe.' Closer. But not the best pay. _Nonetheless, she marked that one too. Asking for a raise was always an option after a few months of hard work.

'C_ourse, there's always 'Dunkin' Donuts.' _She mused rather ruefully.

Violet sipped her drink, swirled it around in her mouth, and turned the page. The rustling of it was the only sound other than the rain against the window that filled the empty space surrounding her.

She told herself she revelled in that solitude—an empty sort of peace that settled like dust in an old house: thick and slightly suffocating.

But peaceful nonetheless.

And consistent. Her life had been this way for a while, just her and her coffin nails as she had so affectionately dubbed her Camel filter-less cigarettes.

Pausing in her search for a moment, she slid one from the small pack beside her left thigh and placed it between her lips, flicking the lighter she carried in her pocket a few times before a flame finally caught. With a deep inhale and a lengthy exhale, she found her peace.

_First taste is always the sweetest_, Violet noted as she took another good drag.

Truthfully, she was lucky to find an apartment that allowed her this vice. Most places had a strict "smoke-free" policy that would make her trudge down flights of stairs to seek poor shelter from the rain and wind. Not at all appealing, but she refused to quit.

She could—if she wanted to—but she didn't.

She was stubborn like that, and it's not like it was doing her any real harm anyway.

So with "smoker friendly" and cheap as her only requirements, she did finally stumble upon her "lovely" Robbinsville apartment. And while lovely might not be the word she'd use, the township was only about an hour's drive from New York if she took I-85 S and the apartment itself it was clean and...spacious enough.

She never had guests anyway.

Especially not now, when she was practically a guest herself.

The move from Woodmont, Connecticut to Robbinsville, New Jersey had been a bit spur of the moment, though Violet_ did_ have a habit of picking up and moving at the drop of a dime. Now that she was here however, she needed to find a way to stay—if even for only a short while.

That's why the day found her plopped cross-legged in the middle of her empty apartment, hunched over the Sunday Job listings. With a cigarette in one hand and a glass of Jameson in the other, she embodied "real world" problems: the stuff they neglect to teach in school.

Not that she'd gone.

Focused on the paper before her, she scanned for more coffeehouse openings, her go-to day gig. So what if she was the perpetual barista, trained in the art of making over-priced coffee for frou-frou housewives with too much money in their pockets and plastic in their faces? She couldn't complain. Besides, it's quite nice working in a place that always smells like freshly-ground coffee.

And with that thought, her stomach chimed in. Violet's brow furrowed as she tried to recall the last time she'd eaten.

_Too long __apparently_.

Hauling herself up, Violet went to scrounge for food. She'd bought some meager staples on the drive over: cereal, milk, box of cookies, oatmeal, and carrot sticks, all morning foods and not substantial.

So she liked breakfast. Whatever, it wasn't anyone's business.

What's more, it's not like she had the equipment to make some five-star feast in her sub-par kitchen. But all those rich people with master chef appliances didn't know how to tie their own shoes, let alone cook for themselves, so she was perfectly within her own right to eat brunch twenty-four seven.

She snatched the oats since they were probably the hardiest food she'd find in the pantry. Though good whiskey wasn't the best thing when running on empty, she downed the rest of her glass anyway and placed it in the sink before she set about bringing water to boil.

_Oats: 1/2 cup  
Water: 1 cup  
Salt: a dash _

_Boil water and salt on stove top._ _Add__ in oats._ _Cook about 5 minutes over medium heat; stir occasionally._

Violet lazily moved the water and salt around her pot and peered at the job listings simultaneously, not really paying enough attention to either. As a result, she ended up dropping the metal spoon from her grip and it sank to the bottom. She turned and stared at it for a beat, thinking of what she could possibly use to get it...

Before reaching in to fish it out with her bare fingers.

Once retrieved, she switched to spoon over to her left hand so she could shake off her wet, blistered right before she went for the job listings again. Her fingers swollen—red and blotchy—touched the paper tenderly. But by the time she'd turned the page, the burns had faded along with any evidence of her previous slip up, and she flexed her digits idly.

Quite the perk of her condition.

But she didn't want to think about it.

Not when she had other things to do.

Violet kept her mind relatively blank while she finished cooking without any more major mishaps before she spooned out the grey-ish glop. Leaning over the counter, she ate with all the gusto of a child forced to eat their peas before they could leave the table.

_Sugar_ she thought irately. _Forgot to buy sugar._

Violet ate about a fourth of the oatmeal she'd prepared before scribbling "_sugar_" on a sticky note. Then it was back to the matter at hand, and she chewed her bottom lip.

Would it really matter if she went ahead and turned in for the night? She was missing no opportunities if she quit now, since it was well past bushiness hours. She couldn't even call about any of the adds she'd marked.

Although it wasn't like she had _anyone else_ she could ring, text, or email either.

Violet didn't really have any friends.

In truth, nicotine and caffeine were her only constant companions now, and reliable ones at that. Hard to make any more more than passing acquaintance when she was only allowed to get so close. Of course, this technically was a self-inflicted ostracism. But it was also a necessary one. It was in human nature to fear the bizarre or unexplained and as it so happens, most people don't react well when they find out their colleague can take a swan dive of the Empire State and live to tell the tale.

Not the best ice-breaker.

More importantly, if any government folk found out her little secret, she'd be strapped to a lab table, two-hundred feet under some far-flung facility before she could even so much as blink, and she'd really prefer that that _didn't _happen.

Of course, that meant keeping everyone beyond arms-length, which apparently made her seem snobbish.

It wasn't that she hated anyone. People were people: good for the occasional conversion, but as soon as they started digging too deep she shut them down.

Just like that.

She knew how to pretend. She'd studied the masks.

Looking back to the papers spread out on the counter, Violet pondered for a moment more before deciding to leave them where they lay and instead, padded over to the second of the two cardboard boxes that held her stuff. She carefully rummaged through it for a bit before finding what she was looking for: her copy of _The Celebrated Cases of Sherlock Holmes; completed and unabridged._

In her "library" of sorts, she had accumulated a total of nine books including the one she now held in her hand, the others being _True Tales from the South at War; A Beside Book of Famous French Stories; As You Like It; Le Morte d'Arthur; Lost Horizon; From Here to Eternity; Animal Farm; _and a _Pictoral Webster's Dictionary. _Quite the hodgepodge of titles, but that's what one finds in yard sales and bookstore clearances. Violet had read all of these through and through—even the dictionary—a thousand times over, but she delved into the writings of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle the most.

Any person who denied the appeal of a good detective novel was either absolutely dull or not a person at all.

Carrying the beloved book over to the corner nearest the kitchen light, she settled herself down for a spell and flipped to one of her favorite cases: _The Speckled Band _before she could slip into a passive, literary lull as she engrossed herself in the story. The familiarity of the words did wonders for her peace of mind.

And that was the way things normally went for little Violet Crawford. She was most certainly a creature of habit and did her very best to maintain the Status-Quo. People would know that if she let _them_ know _her_, because it was evident in her lifestyle.

Small town just close enough to society, job at a coffee shop, cigarettes.

Staying indoors, reading a books, forgetting to eat, forgetting to live.

Loneliness.

Even in a new place, there wasn't any real change.

Everything stayed the same.

Boring.

Lifeless.

And she told herself she liked it that way.

_"In glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have during the  
__last eight years studied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many  
__tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange, but none commonplace; for,  
__working as he did rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of  
__wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation which did not  
__tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic...¹"  
_

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******Disclaimer: As you can probably guess, I lay no claim what so ever to the wonderful characters, settings, and plots of Hellboy©. They belong to the brilliant writer and artist of the comic, Mike Mignola. I do however express my creative licence as a FanFiction author to borrow and to bend those aforementioned characters as well as my ownership over any original characters, settings, and plots I so choose to add in.**

******Quotations:**

******1) Introduction of The Speckled Band by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Public domain in the US since published before 1923)**

**Side note: To all followers of this story, be them registered members or continual guests, there have been a few changes to the previous chapter. Nothing so important that you couldn't do without, but if you would like to go back a re-read the chapter to catch my edits, please do so. If this is your first time viewing this story, please disregard this part of the note.**

**Dear Readers,**

**Let me say once again, thank you again for reading.**

**So here we finally see the leading female's depute chapter. I tried as ****hard as I possibly could to keep her from being a "Mary Sue," I even went so far as to take the international Mary-sue lit mass test on which Violet scored a thirteen landing her soundly in the category of "probably not Mary-sue." However, if you see Marry starting to creep in, please let me know, as that is my worst nightmare.**

**I've heard some questioning about the necessity of an entire introductory chapter solely for my OC.**

**That seems to be the problem with OC's in FanFiction and I saw now better way to introduce their situation with equal importance—because this is a story about _both _of their evolutions—therefore I wrote it like I would a regular novel which means you have to stay with me for a little while before you get as interested in Violet as the other canon characters. ****You've just read about a woman you don't have any particular emotional attachment to, unlike Nuada whom you've come in knowing his whole back-story, so** I can understand if you're rearing to read about their meeting already. This is happening soon, mark my words, but not yet. The pace is certainly going to pick up in the next chapter and come to a head in the one following that.

**Speaking of more chapters, as far as additions go, I'm afraid I won't be able to keep a steady update rate as I had previously planned. Real life seems to keep getting in the way (as is does for all of us), and I can;t help but come down with the occasional case of writer's block, so I'll post new chapters when I can. That being said, if there are long periods of silence from my end, don't dismay, because I'm probably swamped and will get back to the story as soon as I get through my studies. _If_ I were to ever decided to discontinue Perennial—which I wouldn't—then I would certainly tell you about it.**

**Anyway, if you have any questions, concerns, or cries of outrage, please leave a review or shoot me a private message. It's so much more fun writing what y'all want to read, and I am open to suggestions so please give them. That being said, I will bid you adieu, and hope you enjoyed this latest chapter of Perennial!**

**Sincerely yours,**

**Ella Mantry**


	3. The Prince and the Pauper

Chapter III:

The Prince and the Pauper

Lunar cycle:

New Moon

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Days after the hellish thunderstorm, the Bureau was much the same as it usually was. Though, let it be known that there was never anything particularly "usual" about this building and its inhabitants.

Scattered about the halls, groups of agents maintained—or tried to anyway—the various creatures that had needed to be brought in and contained.

Seven agents worked together to herd an incensed Nandi Bear¹ from the science lab it had taken hold of with an elaborate dance of flailing limbs. Three others grappled with a rather distressed Abbagoochie² as it tried to claw its way past them.

New suits would be in order later.

Even beyond the more immediate excitement, there was an air of "normalcy" that percolated the atmosphere. The assorted artifacts remained in their glass cases untouched, watching the hours pass in the halls. Within the office of the late Professor Trevor Bruttenholm, the gold-gilded chandeliers gleamed. While at the same time, the water filter of the large tank belonging to Abraham Sapian bubbled as though it was alive.

And behind a thick steel door in the lowest level, a pregnant woman burnt her breakfast.

"_Red!" _Liz called from the kitchenette, as she started scraping the charred remains of what was supposed to be scrambled eggs from her skillet.

A distracted "Wha?" was the only response she received from in front of the televisions, where the demon in question was watching the commotion stirred up by his most recent outing in society.

With chips in hand.

"H.B., I don't know how much more of this I can take. It's too hard."

"What, eggs?" Hellboy had yet to take his eyes off of the screens.

"No." Liz slammed the pan, still caked with burnt bits, down onto the counter before pushing it into the sink and spinning around to pace the den area.

"It's just...it's everything. It's this building, this room, being pregnant. All these crazy mood-swings. Not being able to do anything by myself anymore." She stated with a gesture back towards the mess in the sink. "And the responsibility. Red, there's so much pressure." She placed her hands on her lower back. "What if I'm a terrible mother? What if I do everything wrong? No, I'm already doing that. How am I supposed to feed our children if I ruin something as easy as _breakfast_—I mean who screws up scrambled eggs? Not to mention none of my clothes are fitting anymore—"

"Babe," he said as he stood before her and placed his large, red hands on either side of her growing stomach. "There's nothin' to worry about. Everything's going to be just fine, you watch." He moved his left hand to her cheek and rubbed a gentle circle. "And, I can honestly say, you're the hottest mama that _I've_ ever seen."

"Very funny, Red." Liz said with stale sarcasm as she turned from his embrace.

"What? I'm serious." But she simply crossed her arms walked away without another glance in his direction. "Come on, Liz..._Liz!" _Red followed her, his expression entreating, but the alarm went off.

Taking note of this, Liz took a brief moment to gather herself before sighing,

"Just...can you help me put my boots on? I can't really reach my ankles." She looked down at her socked feet, or more rather _towards _them seeing as her view was currently obstructed, before glancing back up at Red, who put his hands on his hips and twitched his jaw before acquiescing.

"Sure thing babe."

"Don't call me babe."

* * *

Some miles away, Violet stirred in the breaking light of the new morning, shifting her feet in the tangled sheets.

A few days past, she managed to secure a position at a quaint café owned by an older couple. It came at quite the relief really, because any longer and the uselessness would have started weighing down on her conscious.

Her new bosses hadn't taken too much persuading to find her fit for the job. Sure, they scrutinized her lack of information as heavily as everyone else, but she knew the right lines to say.

Family-run businesses were fairly easy like that.

Now with a steady flow of income, granted she didn't do anything to cataclysmically piss off the hands that paid her, Violet could begin falling back to her usual routine at the start the day.

But that required getting up.

Something she was always more than a little reluctant to do.

She flopped a hand gracelessly onto her face and groaned. _Get up and get to work. Come on._

Sliding from the air-mattress, Violet made her way to the kitchenette and made a breakfast to choke on before ripping her work-clothes off their hanger. But once properly attired, she moved around with a little more wakefulness.

She made a face in the mirror as she twisted her hair into a messy knot near the nape of her neck. Simply pulling it out of the way was about as far as Violet usually went when getting ready, and that was only because she had to. The patrons probably wouldn't appreciate finding a yard-long strand of maroon hair in their food.

And she couldn't very well pass it off as someone else's.

On her way out, Violet snatched a pack of smokes near the door. Placing it on the cuff of her button-up, she rolled it until it was held securely against her bicep. Her slacks were the cheapest she could find, but they also didn't actually have pockets, so old-school was the best way to carry her coffin nails if she couldn't keep her satchel on her.

At seven thirty on the dot Violet locked the door behind her. Being the lowest man on the totem-pole meant having the least desirable time slots, such as the opening shift she had today.

Because the Bowdens took her quite demeanor as the mannerisms of a nice, young woman with a modest character, they had no problem telling her where she would find the hidden key and leaving her to get the café running by the time they rolled around. Ergo, for the first forty-five minutes or so she would be working all by her lonesome, getting everything in place for the customers.

Of course that also meant she wouldn't have to deal with anyone as she set up shop.

And honestly, she was more than happy that there would be nobody there to bug her this morning when she arrived.

* * *

"Ah! Agent Hellboy, Agent Sherman. Zhere you are." The precise German lilt carried down the hall to greet the two approaching figures.

"Krauss."

"I see you are as pleasant as effer, Agent Hellboy. But Vhere are Agent Sapien and zhe Princess?"

Red huffed a short laugh as he adjusted the left shoulder of his trench coat with a shrug. "Probably in Father's office, holding hands and blinking at each other—"

"If you would demon, not speak of my sister's personal life while in my presence." The harsh voice of the elvish prince from came the corner of the room, seeming to have materialized from the shadows themselves.

"Why? Does seeing Abe and your sister all _googly-eyed_ at each other make you squeamish?"

Nuada, who's face always seemed to be in some form of a scowl excluding the time spent with his twin, gave Hellboy an icy glare that would have frozen any lesser man where he stood. But of course, the _gun_-wielding _monster_-hunter was not phased in the least, and this angered the prince even more.

"As her brother, I do not especially wish to hear about her romantic affairs." With that, Nuada turned his attention away from his company, not wishing to speak with any of them further, and opted instead to stare at the wall in front of him as way of dismissal.

Much to his chagrin however, the beast carried on.

"Well no one said you had to be here."

_Such an attitude could have only developed from his time around these human simpletons he is so attached to_, the prince scoffed at the thought but decided to play along, turning his head minutely to meet his opponent's brash gaze.

"I believe your Manning did."

"He ain't 'my Manning.'"

At this, the prince's lips tilted into a mocking half-smirk before adding "Right. Because you are _his _minion."

"Look here, you sorry son-of-a—"

_"Will you two cool it?_ Your back-and-forth is making _my_ back hurt." Liz spat out. They were at it almost everyday—like clockwork—and while sometimes she was able to just ignore it, when the testosterone reached toxic levels she put her foot down.

Her lover, on the other hand, had gotten caught up in his verbal spar with the elf and spoke to her with a little of his left-over irritation.

"Liz, everything makes your back hurt."

"Excuse me?" Realizing his faux pas however, Red scrambled for something to say, because the last thing he needed was Liz breathing fire down his neck.

"Uh, nothing—nope. I didn't say anything."

As he watched all this from his post at the corner of the room, the Prince narrowed his eyes at the domestic display. So very human indeed, he couldn't help but throw in another jab.

"So easily subdued by your woman I see."

"You're walkin' on thin ice, _prince_." The red giant growled and made to speak more but was interrupted by the arrival of Abe and Princes Nuala, walking towards them with elbows linked. Just before they reached the group, Hellboy leaned in closer to the royal recluse and uttered an ill-tempered "We'll settle this later..." before returning to Liz's side.

"I am glad to hear it." Nuada spoke at his back before resuming his cold-shoulder, however this time keeping an ear to the conversation of the others. Though he truly did not care to witness Nuala on the arm of another man, she was indeed his sister and he loved her still. Nothing would change that. It was his duty as a brother to protect her, no matter how many suitors she went through.

Besides, it wasn't as though that _water-dweller_ could do so any better than he, Nuada reasoned as her Abraham spoke.

"I'm terribly sorry we're late," apologized Abe. "We were quite engrossed in some lovely literature and simply lost track of time."

"Yeah, I bet." Red rolled his eyes before Liz elbowed him in the ribs.

But before any awkwardness could commence, Director Manning decided to join the ensemble with classified papers in hand and worry-lines already in place.

"What's the situation?" Hellboy was itching to get out into the crowd and Manning sensed this. It was definitely going to be another taxing day trying contain the big, red problem that always managed to find its way onto his desk. His poor nerves. Would he even live to retire?

Pushing that thought aside, he answered, "See for yourself." and he laid the documents across the metal table beside them. "Looks like we've got an air-born creature making a mess in Huntington, New York."

"Of all the states in the U.S., they always go for New York." Red mused to no one in particular. Secretly, but maybe not as discretely as he thought, he was rather pleased with this outcome.

Prince Nuada was not.

"Perhaps, because it's the main artery of commerce for your human filth." He put forth dryly and Hellboy whirled to argue with him again, regardless of whatever warning Liz had given him earlier.

"Your Highness, Hellboy—please." Because another "fight of the freaks" was exactly what Tom Manning did _not _need. He did not sign up to be a nanny.

Red, on the other hand, did not particularly want to stop because baldy said to. But this mission was his ticket out of here so he backed down. "Yeah, whatever." For now, anyway.

"Can we get back to the matter at hand?"

"Well sure. That's what you called us here for, in'it?"

Heaving a sigh, Manning continued. "In the report you'll see that we've only got a sparse, verbal description to go off of for this thing. No pictures, no clear identification. That means we're gong in relatively blind so I want everyone to handle this with caution. We don't know what this is or what it can do, only that we've got to get rid of it."

"Cause that's what they pay us for."

"Right well, now that everyone's familiar with the details of the mission, there's no reason to keep standing around. You know the place and you know the drill, so let's move out." And he started grabbing the documents and stuffing them back into their manila folder.

"Finally." Red breathed cathartically, making sure he was the first one out the door, thinking of all the ways he could get his face splattered across the news. He was swiftly followed by the prince, the director, and then Abe, who left only after reassuring the dear princess of his safe return. Liz and Johann were the last to move towards the door.

"Perhaps you should stay behind Agent Sherman." Professor Kruass said as her stopped her with a light hand on her shoulder. "Taking your current condition into account, I zhink it best if you run communications instead. No more fieldverk until after an appropriate time for you, my dear." Liz exhaled sharply but agreed with his point and joined the Princess and Agent Krauss on the sidelines as the others climbed into the transport.

"Oh, and Hellboy..." Red turned back to his bald handler with poorly concealed impatience. "No pictures this time."

"Gotchya." Director Manning could practically hear the eye-roll in the statement, but he let it slide. They had bigger problems on their plate right now than Hellboy's authority issues.

So on that note, and with all things settled and ready to go, the group clambered into the truck and set off towards where they would intercept the target.

* * *

In the car ride to work, Violet pondered the people she'd be serving.

A lot of old people as it turned out.

It seemed like at least two-thirds of the population in this area of New Jersey were swimming in the tidewater of their sixth decade. Everything had a stale, out-of-fashion air to it: the architecture style, the food sold at the grocery, the snippets in the papers.

_And that has to be the fifth retirement housing billboard I've seen in the last three minutes._

Maybe the town was the headquarters of a huge pudding factory or something.

With an infinite supply of tapioca mush.

Not that she had a problem with it per say, but it meant she'd be repeating herself to poor ears all afternoon. And then as the day went on, any old crows that wandered in would be inclined to start prying into her personal life because apparently a young woman who lived and worked for herself was unheard of in these parts.

Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

Even when with her best efforts to appear otherwise, she was strange.

An old, familiar feeling of dejection started to bubble up and she had to drag it back down by force before it breached her mask.

So instead of following that previous train of thought she tried distracting herself, deciding instead to flip the radio to a station playing something with a church organ and a folk guitar before refocusing on where she was going.

It didn't help much.

Even though she'd managed this lifestyle for a few years now, things never seemed to get any easier.

And it came as no surprise really.

* * *

The scene that the group came upon in last place the creature sighted was not exactly what they had expected.

It was quiet.

Eerily so.

"Blue. You notice something wrong here?" Red asked as he surveyed his surroundings.

"Yes, it seems the residents are missing. Evacuated or—" There was a wet sound as Hellboy stepped into crimson puddle.

"Eaten."

Taking that as a sign of the beast's presence, the company fanned out to cover as much ground as possible. The three human agents assigned to escort scouted aft. Abe stretched his palm towards every shadow on the right. Nuada, brandishing his elfish silver, stepped silently to the left.

While Hellboy flipped the barrel of his Samaritan in place and took the point before static buzzed over his ear piece.

"What's the story H.B.?"

"I got nothing but leftovers from today's lunch special right now."

"Vhell _do_ try to take it down before it decimates anozher area, agent."

Red rolled his eyes. "I'm on it, _ok_? Don't get your ectoplasmic panties in a knot."

"_Agent Hellboy_, need I remind you to take zhis mission serio—"

"Look, it's one o'clock in the afternoon. We'll find this overgrown buzzard in no time." He snapped before he ended the transmission, muttering "Gasbag."

Obviously in the broad daylight, the B.P.R.D. agents had the advantage.

Or so they thought.

Suddenly, a deafening screech echoed through the empty street. "Watch out boys, here comes trouble."

The group stood at attention and faced skyward. But as they scoured the tops of the buildings, they were unaware of the huge reptile gliding low and fast towards them until they heard a panicked yell. Red immediately fired off multiple rounds as the creature swiftly flew out of view with the agent it had snatched. "Shit."

And they took off after it.

Coming around a corner building, the team came across the monstrous beast in the midst of its meal. Blood glistened on its crested snout as the creature reared from the disemboweled corpse. The reptile spread its featherless wings and screamed once it spotted the intruders. Before they could take aim however, it quickly abandoned its kill and took to the air once more, disappearing behind a building as the agents fired relentlessly.

"Damn it's fast. Abe, what the hell is that thing?"

"I'm looking."

As Abe began paging through his text of mythical creatures, the one they currently faced swooped in and carried off another suit. Hellboy shot at it, but only managed to hit the clawed foot that clutched the man, who now screamed as he fell to his death. "Aw crap." Red grimaced at the definite crunch.

Now without it's human refection, the flying monster banked left and trained its sights on a more sizable, duster-clad quarry. "...Abe."

"Just a minute." The beast started accelerating towards Red as he fired round after round with ill-effect.

"_Abe!_" He finished his last shots and had to leap out of the way to avoid behind caught in its talons.

"Ah, 'Kongamoto.' It says here that the Kongamoto is a creature similar to the prehistoric Ornithocheirus³. Its head, entire body, and wings are covered with a leathery reptilian skin, nearly impossible to pierce. It's sharp talons can overpower and carry off substantially large prey with ease, while the jagged teeth lining its jaw are capable of ripping flesh from bone."

"Probably got some killer bad breath too." Hellboy observed, spinning all directions as he tried to locate his target.

"The Kongamoto is known to suddenly attack from the sky, diving down low only just before it seizes its victim. For any living creature who dares to cross paths with this beast, only certain death awaits."

"Yeah-yeah, and what's its weakness? How am I supposed to kill this thing?"

"Hmm, doesn't quite say."

"Never does." Aiming his gun at the Kongamoto's hideous maw as it came at him again, Red pulled the trigger and nothing happened.

The cylinder was empty.

He patted his pockets for extra ammunition before realizing it was missing and quickly dove to the side to narrowly escape an attack "Shit." Red cursed. "I've never done that before." He rushed back towards the vehicle and barely dodged another swipe of the creature's ravenous jaws.

Swooping up, the Kongamoto landed on a nearby building ledge, surveying its targets before making another ear-piercing screech.

* * *

Violet was having a rather uneventful day.

By mid-afternoon, all of six, maybe seven people had passed through the shop doors. Any box-moving, table-setting, or brewer-cleaning had been finished hours ago, leaving nothing else to do but wait.

She mainly spent her time keeping dust from settling and picking at her fingernails but was interrupted from her musings when Harold Bowden stepped through the door. Straightening up from her slouch, she greeted him.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Bowden?"

"I'll tell ya...in just a minute—lemme get myself settled." He said, slipping off his outer-coat gingerly.

"Need any help?"

"Nah I'm just fine. A little slow these days, but I can manage." Hanging the coat over his left hand, Harold fished a key out of his pocket and fitted it into the office door. Then he stepped inside and went about whatever he did in there for around five minutes before coming out again.

"Well, Michael called a little while ago." he announced, folding papers he'd brought out of the office and sticking them in his back pocket. "Said he caught something and can't make it today, which means there's no one to close up shop."

"And you need me to take the last shift?" She finished for him.

"If that's alright. I know we asked you to come in early today, so I understand if you can't, but you'd be a big help."

"Sure." Violet breathed. It's not like she had anything else to do. "I have a cell you could've called though."

"I needed to come get some paperwork for taxes anyway."

"Alright then. Got everything you needed?"

"Fine, fine." He waved off the thought, before gathering up his things. Then he leaned over the counter to give her shoulder a light pat and took his leave.

Once again, Violet was left to her thoughts for some time. It took at least another forty minutes of sitting around before anyone bustled through the doors.

"Welcome to Beau's Coffee and Ice Cream, what can I get for you today?"

But as long as that and taking orders was the only human interaction she had to make, this job was decently manageable.

* * *

The Kongamoto was rapidly getting out of hand.

Red fired a shower of bullets across the street that shattered glass and broke off chunks of brick from walls as the creature banked and swerved. With only his upper torso visible above an abandoned SUV, Abe aided with his own Bureau-issued glock.

Despite their efforts however, the ancient reptile continued to elude them. Even worse, it seemed to have gained the upper-hand since it had already picked off the remaining human field agents, leaving Hellboy, Abe, and Nuada on their own. Speaking of Nuada...

"_Where the hell is the Prince?_"

As if summoned, the silver warrior suddenly leapt from a high ledge above where the creature sat, catching it unawares. Lance twirling in his practiced grip, he managed to slice off the Kongamoto's foot before landing with a graceful roll. The prince snapped his head up just in time to watch the beast careen to the left as it soared out of reach again, squalling at the loss of its limb.

Picking himself up off the ground, Hellboy made towards Nuada and jabbed his gun in the elf's face. "Let's get this straight. If you're gonna work with us, you work _with _us. Get the—uh, shit." And both dove out of the way as the Kongomoto whizzed past.

"I recommend keeping your eyes on the creature instead of inveighing against how I do battle. Unless you so sorely wish to be eaten yourself."

"Like you were doing any better when that thing came at us." Hellboy ground out, dodging another swipe. Nuada trained his gaze on the Kongomoto as it soared above them and perched on a neighboring building.

"Hey. Lizard-breath." It focused on Red. "You forgettin' something?"

The Kongamoto dropped from the building's edge and darted towards the pair, then swept around to come at them from behind. Using its weight, the reptile rammed into Hellboy, managing to knock him off balance and jar the Samaritan from his grip. Now disarmed, Red had to hit and guard with his stone arm as the creature attempted to shred him at each pass.

He punched, blocked, slammed it's jaw with a left hook, dodged, and punched again.

And he missed.

Claws slashed his right cheek.

Red dabbed at it, smearing the blood between his fingers, before looking back to the creature a few seconds too late.

Suddenly the Kongamoto was on him and he was gripping its jaws with both hands to keep them from reaching him. They struggled on the ground for a few seconds; the reptile trying to get at his exposed throat and Hellboy fending it off.

He felt a wet trickle down his left arm. The beast's teeth were slicing his fingers to ribbons. But there was no time to contemplate this as those pearly whites came closer and closer to his face.

Inch by inch the Kongamoto neared its target.

And then it wasn't anymore.

A blade stuck clear from it's chest, straight through the heart.

The creature jerked once, pouring its life blood all over of Red's shirt, before collapsing against him. Red heaved the carcass off him with a grunt and glanced at his front, then up at the Prince who had slain the beast and thus saved his life. Not something he was particularly happy about.

"I had it covered, damn it!" he snarled.

"Obviously, since I was the one who killed it, you did not."

Red huffed as he got to his feet and wrung out his clothing. "Didn't know you were so desperate to save some humans."

"Do not mistake sympathy with haste to return. The deed is done, now let us go." With that, the prince promptly turned his back on the demon and marched towards the van. Hellboy glared at his retreating figure for a beat before he gave up wringing the blood from his t-shirt went to meet up with Abe.

When they had all finally gotten back to base, Manning was on the phone with his superior, getting torn a new one. Despite being on the phone and hundreds of miles away, the government official's voice could be clearly heard by all present, much to the embarrassment of the director. He rubbed his eyes and turned back to the screen in front of him "Kay, you don't have to yell."

Apparently there was an issue with the conspicuous manner in which the monster was handled.

Again.

And now Manning was feeling the heat from DC.

Again.

"This seems like a comedy." Red observed.

"But I don't see anyone laughing." Liz commented back.

"_Seventy-two mangled corpses_ _dispersed throughout the district! How are we going to cover this up?_"

"You could say it was a fire. Ain't that usual spiel?"

"Don't be ridiculous, a _fire_ couldn't possibly be responsible for this much damage."

"_Seventy-two bodies, Manning!"_

The director made a placating hand gesture asking for a moment to think, before shaking his head and shrugging "I have no idea."

* * *

Violet wasn't precisely sure why she agreed to take this second shift.

Rent money.

Sucking up to the new boss.

Or boredom.

Probably the latter.

Regardless, the mess wasn't going to clean its self.

To help make the time pass more quickly, she fiddled with the radio the Bowdens had probably kept since 1970, rotating the dial through stations of static to find that only clear station: the evening news. She only half listened to the reporter's practiced speech as she worked.

_"...moment, only a few details about the explosion in Huntington, New York have been released. We have verified with the police at the crime scene that it was, indeed, a gas leak that caused the fire which killed seventy-two people earlier this afternoon._

_Authorities repeat that this was a freak accident—not an act of arson—and that precautions will be taken to insure another catastrophe like this one doesn't happen in the future. Our thoughts are with those that lost loved ones in this tragic event._

_In other news, this evening marked the anniversary of the first geographical exhibition to South Pole, lead by Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen. Amundsen, along..."_

Having wiped down all the surfaces in the the café, Violet realized the only thing left to do was place all the chairs upside down on the tables and mop the floors. She put her hands on her hips and scrunched her face in disapproval, but nonetheless resigned herself to the close up shop.

* * *

With aching muscles and tired eyes, two different parties finished their duties for the day. But even as the light began to dim, and people across the east coast went about settling in for the night...

Something stirred in the darkness.

* * *

**Disclaimer: As you can probably guess, I lay no claim what so ever to the wonderful characters, settings, and plots of Hellboy©. They belong to the brilliant writer and artist of the comic, Mike Mignola. I do however express my creative licence as a FanFiction author to borrow and to bend those aforementioned characters as well as my ownership over any original characters, settings, and plots I so choose to add in.**

**Creature Definitions:**

**1. Nandi Bear - _A very large, muscular beasts with long sharp claws and spotted fur. They have very similar physical features to the well known hyena but are much larger, with longer front legs than back, a thicker snout, and only a single eye in the middle of their foreheads. They are also easy to anger and attack almost anything they catch in their sight. Statistics from attacks point to them being largely nocturnal._**

**2. Abbagoochie -_ A fierce little creature resembling a cross between an owl, a fox, and a deer. It is indigenous to Costa Rica, where people refer to it as a "dry-land piranha" because while small, they are only about three feet long and weigh an average of 35 pounds as adults, they are all teeth and muscle and can consume many times their own weight in a days' feeding. Recently there have been sighting in West Virginia._**

**_3. _Ornithocheirus_ - The largest pterosaur from the Cretaceous period of Europe and South America. Ornithocheirus had the wing area of a small aeroplane, _****_with a long slender skull and often a bony crest on its snout_**. It had sharp teeth set in a long tapering jaw designed for catching fish.

**Dear Readers,**

**First and foremost, I would like to give a huge thanks to _CrazyNorwegian _for being the first to review my story and _Melodeia _for the extremely helpful critiques. I certainly try my very hardest to get the characters as true to form and story as interesting as possible, so thank you for that. You should know that your comments absolutely make my day and really spur me on to write more!**

**Now for a note that concerns you all.**

**So sorry for the three month-long delay in update. My father decided to drag me off to Florida only just after I got back home from university as a spur of the moment Father-Daughter trip, where we snorkeled with manatees and I learned how and was certified to scuba dive. As it so happens, my laptop is not water-proof and the days leading up to my actual training in the water were spent reading the manual and answering end of the chapter exams that I had to turn in (and I thought I was done with final exams).**

**Needless to say, I didn't much time for writing, what with becoming a rubber-coated manatee chew toy (they liked my hair the best and I was picking kelp out of it for at least an hour afterwards) and swimming with so many pipes and electronics I look like a beach-borg or something.**

**Then Christmas happened, I got a case of writers block, school picked up double-time and...well.**

**Excuses aside, as a form a repent I present to you all this monster of a chapter. Lord have mercy, this took forever. I didn't even know I could write that much for one chapter, but I was ever eager to make it up to you, my readers.**

**I also, while out and about in Florida, stumbled across a book of _Russian 19th-Century Gothic Tales _I a really want incorporate them into this somehow. I'm not quite sure of the way I'll go about it, but I'll probably have to actually _read _the stories first. As you can tell by the second half of the last chapter, I'm a bit of an old book fanatic so I'm not sure if this addition to my own personal library will make it in to this in literary or physical form—or perhaps at all—but I though I might share my musings with you, but that's neither here nor there.**

**So here you are, all 5,726 words, thirteen pages in Word of Chapter III. Please enjoy and thank you again!**

**Sincerely yours,**

**Ella Mantry**


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